


caught a whiff of you on the breeze

by Lexiliscious



Series: how the Avengers accidentally become a pack [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes's Notebooks, Bucky The Werewolf Hermit on the Mountain, Bucky has a new black vibranium arm courtesy of T'Chaka, Bucky saves everyone's ass, Bucky/T'Challa brotp, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Even his own, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Nightmares, No Explicit Sexual Content, No Sexual Content at all really, Non-Graphic Violence, Sam/Steve brotp, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sharing Body Heat, Temporary Amnesia, Van Helsing-style Werewolves, werewolf!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:44:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexiliscious/pseuds/Lexiliscious
Summary: James Barnes was turned into a werewolf when he was 9 years old. Steve had been there for him through all of it, the closest thing to an actual pack that Bucky has ever considered outside of his own parents. Scenting had always been really important to him, and after he was taken by HYDRA, they seemed to recognise that some scents would set him off, even if they didn’t know why. The battle on the bridge goes differently when Bucky loses his mask, because to Bucky, Steve smells like warmth, sunshine, and coming home.





	1. recognizing someone lost

                The man on the bridge is nothing more than a target to him; he may as well not have another name, he may as well not have a face. It doesn’t matter that when his blonde hair catches the sun the Soldier’s heart feels like it starts up once again. He may not have felt this before, but he knows that it isn’t important to the mission. Few things are. Physical damage is only important if it is immediately life threatening or rapidly becoming so. Hunger is not. Sleep is only permitted when eyesight falters. The moon is something to be ignored, no matter the state of waxing or waning. It is never full when he wakes up from cryostasis. He always checks.

                The man on the bridge is nothing more than a target to him.

                Until his mask comes off during the struggle.

                All of the fight leaves him in a rush as he inhales the man’s scent. It’s nothing he can ever remember smelling on another person before. He may dream of the way the scent makes him feel, in cryostasis, but even that’s an uncertainty. The man had called him ‘Bucky’ but he doesn’t know who that is. Now, pinned under the blonde man’s weight up against a vehicle, he doesn’t care. He will undertake the codename: Bucky in lieu of codename: Winter Soldier if that means he can have this man as his permanent handler. He’s gone totally limp in the man’s hold, and can see the confusion on his face when he tips forward a bit to press his nose into his neck.

                “Take me with you,” Codename: Bucky tells the man. “I’ll go. I surrender.” He desperately hopes this is not another test, because he’s well aware that he’s failed it if it is. He doesn’t think that there is any amount of reconditioning that could be done to take away what the scent of this man does to him. He will not fight him; there’s no fight left.

                “You will?” The man croaks, his voice unsteady. The soldier wonders why. Whatever emotions the man is working through are unnecessary. He will not resist. He will go pliantly as long as they do not try to take him away from this man. He nods against his neck. “Then let’s get out of here. Will you cover me?”

                “Yes.” He answers with no hesitation. “I will make sure the path is clear. Who are the targets?”

                “The men that brought you here.”

                “Affirmative. Black Widow and the man driving the car?”

                “No, they’re my friends.”

                “Affirmative.” He pulls a gun from its holster and fires over the man’s shoulder, taking out three of his previous handlers in quick succession. His new handler seems surprised, like he didn’t anticipate him to switch sides so easily, but he holds no fond memories of HYDRA. He has no loyalties to them.

                They’re overtaken, though not easily, and shoved into the back of a van. There are two guards, they have disabled his arm, and across from him sit the Widow and the man from behind the wheel of the car. The Widow has a wound and she seems like she may pass out soon. “The Widow is compromised.” He tells his new handler, still leaning against him. “The wound is rapidly becoming life threatening. Repairs needed.”

                “I know, Buck.” His handler says.

                “We need to put pressure on the wound,” The other man says to the guards. They don’t move. “Please. She’ll die.”

                The soldier doesn’t tell him that begging is futile; it will not help him to do so. It will not make the Widow’s condition improve. If HYDRA sees fit to let her bleed out in the back of the van, she will. In a flurry of motion, the van is overtaken, he and his new handler are unchained, and they are allowed to press a shirt to the Widow’s wound so that she doesn’t die.

                He doesn’t know where they’re being taken, but it’s alright, because his new handler does not leave his side and doesn’t complain when he turns his face into his neck and breathes him in deep. The Widow gives him odd looks, guarded, but he was told not to engage, so he doesn’t.

                “This is Sam and Natasha,” His handler says, when they’re far away from gunfire and stitched up. He blinks as he takes in the information but does not otherwise react. His face is blank, as it always is with mission reports. “And the girl who saved our skin is Maria Hill.”

                He tilts his head, running the information over in his brain. “Acknowledged.”

                The handler frowns. He wonders if he has displeased him. He does not outwardly show any signs that he detests reconditioning, that he is expecting it and dreads it. He learned very quickly that new handlers were always the ones likely to show the least mercy. He never fights back. Fighting back means getting wiped prematurely.

                “Do you know who I am?” His handler asks. He wants nothing more than to sag against the man, but doubts such clingy behavior would be allowed.

                “Target on the bridge. Codename: Captain America. Given name not relevant. Objective: destroy. Mission parameters changed. Codename: Handler 216. Given name unknown. Objective: Protect.” He cites easily, the words mechanical and unfeeling in his mouth.

                His new handler seems extremely displeased with his answer. He’s not entirely sure what emotion it is that’s showing on his face, but it looks something like what the soldier would imagine grief as. He can’t be sure; he’s never felt the emotion or actually seen it himself. He knows what the word implies, though, and he thinks his handler’s face could go beside the word in a dictionary.

                “What is your name?” His handler asks next.

                He hesitates. “Codename—“ He frowns. “Codename: Bucky. Previously codename: Winter Soldier.”

                His handler shakes his head sadly. “No,” He says, mournful. “Your name.”

                He frowns. He doesn’t understand. “I have no name other than the aliases given to me by my handlers. They once called me ‘the American’, but I do not think that is mission relevant.”

                “What _is_ your mission?”

                “Previously: Eliminate the man, codename: Captain America. Currently: protect handler. Standard protocol during downtime between active missions allowable.”

                “What does standard protocol entail?” The widow—Natasha asks, as it seems that his handler is emotionally compromised. He doesn’t think this man is going to be a good handler. He is far too emotional. Bucky will have no one else despite this; he expects the change of pace will be nice.

                “Eat. Sleep. Submit for repairs. Mission report. Disclose any physical abnormalities. Train new recruits. Upkeep personal hygiene to functional levels. Submit to testing. Submit to orders given by handler without question. Recalibration. Cryostasis.” He answers, giving a general overview of what happens after mission completion. The process takes less than a day, usually, unless they keep him awake longer to train recruits. They have not had many recruits recently. He can’t say he would remember if they did.

                “Why did you go against mission parameters on the bridge while engaging your target?” Natasha asks, voice cold. His face twitches involuntarily in what would have, at one time, been a grimace.

                “Mission parameters changed.”                

                “Why?” She demands.

                “The Captain,” He begins, mouth clicking shut as the man himself turns to interrupt.

                “Steve,” The Captain says. “My name is Steve. You can—you can call me that. Steven Grant Rogers,” He’s got an odd look on his face, like Bucky will take something from this other than at face value. He does not.

                “Steve,” He corrects himself, once it’s clear the man is done talking, eyes focused back on Natasha. “Is a target that cannot be engaged.”

                Her brow creases in confusion at this, the first look that isn’t steely that has crossed her features. “You engaged him fine before your mask was taken.” She points out. It’s not a question; Bucky remains silent.                 “What if Steve were to tell you to engage him?” She asks. “To kill him. Would you complete the mission given to you by your handler?”

                Bucky turns to look at the man in question. He thinks about this. Orders are usually cut and dry, but he has never been used as a tool for assisted suicide. He turns the imaginative order over in his head for several seconds while watching his new handler. He seems very intent on the answer and is staring back at him.

                “No.” He answers, finally. “An order as such would go against core conditioning.”

                “Is that all?” She says.   

                “Steven Grant Rogers is a target that—“

                “Cannot be engaged, I heard you.” Natasha snaps.

                “Nat,” Steve says, quietly. Bucky can smell his distress. It’s soured his scent. He wants to fix it. “Be careful with him.”

                “He’s not a child, Steve.”

                “He’s been _brainwashed_.”

                “He’s a highly trained assassin and this could be an elaborate trap.”

                “It’s not.”

                “How can you be so sure?”         

                “He went completely limp while we were fighting. He _recognized_ me. That’s why I’m a target he can’t engage. Some part of him _remembers_ me.”

                Bucky has no memories of this handler. He doesn’t mention this. They can draw their own conclusions as long as he is allowed to stay with Steve. Natasha makes a frustrated noise, throws her hands in the air, and storms off muttering angry Russian curse words. “Steve?” Bucky asks, now alone with the man.

                “Yeah, Buck?” Steve has his head in his hands and has taken a position sitting on the floor, against a wall.

                “I request you not give me an order to harm you.”  Bucky is not practiced in asking for things. Steve motions him over, so Bucky sits next to him, shoulder to hip. Steve’s scent lifts a bit.

                “I won’t, Buck, promise.” He’s quiet for several seconds, brow creased in thought. “Did… You didn’t shift, when we fought.” Bucky’s entire body goes cold and he goes both white as a sheet and stiff as a board simultaneously. Steve notices immediately, turning to wrap his arms around him. “Hey, no, it’s okay. It’s okay, Buck, I swear. I won’t tell.”

                “Previous handlers have always been… unaware of my condition.” He whispers, forehead pressed to Steve’s collarbone. “The moon has never been full while out of cryostasis. Handlers attribute accelerated healing to a version of the serum injected twice daily. A shift has never been completed, rather full or partial, in front of any handlers or technicians. Heightened senses are sometimes used on missions.”

                Steve rubs his hand over the back of his neck. Bucky yearns to keen into the touch, starved for more touches so tender. “It’s okay, Buck, you can shift whenever you need to. You’re not going back into cryo. You’re not going to get any—any more recalibrations,” Steve spits the word as if it tastes bad to him. Bucky’s lips pull up at the corners for the first time in what feels like centuries. The word tastes like rust in his mouth, too.

                “No new handlers?” He asks, hopeful.   

                “I’m not your handler, Buck,” Steve says, quiet. Bucky’s good arm curls into a fist in the fabric of Steve’s shirt, unwilling to let him go. He will accept _no other_ handlers. “You—you’re your own handler, I’m just—your friend.”

                Bucky frowns hard, breathing Steve’s scent in deep. He’d heard no lie in the beating of this man’s heart, but he doesn’t understand. He voices as much to Steve. “You can make your own choices, now. Whatever you want, you can do that. If you wanna come with me, you can, but I’m not your handler. I’ll help you as much as I can, but you don’t have to listen to anything I say if it’s something you don’t _want_ to do.”

                Bucky’s feeling a little overwhelmed, and sort of like his brain just short circuited. He doesn’t understand. This goes against all mission parameters. He’s a weapon. He doesn’t get opinions, or options, or choices. He follows orders and that’s all. “I… I don’t understand.” He chokes out, feeling broken. They’ve patched up his injuries, all of which have already healed, but he feels like breathing is suddenly something he has to think about. It’s overwhelming.

                “That’s okay, bud, we’ll work on it, okay?”

                “Okay, Steve.” He says, obedient. Steve makes a sad noise, but doesn’t complain about the fact that the soldier is virtually in his lap, and he hasn’t stopped rubbing comforting circles between his shoulder blades either.

                “Let’s go home, huh?” Steve says, quiet. Bucky nods even though he has no home. “We’ll rest tonight, then we’ll go, okay?”

                They rest. Steve doesn’t like when Bucky tries to stay a constant vigil beside his bed. Eventually he convinces Bucky to sleep, though only when he says that it’s okay to sleep next to him. Bucky crowds Steve up against the wall, turns so his own body is facing the entrance to their room even though he wants nothing more than to crawl under to covers and suffocate himself against Steve’s side. He takes comfort in the steady thumping of his heartbeat, instead.

                He falls into a very light sleep, wakes up when Steve wraps his arms around him in his slumber but doesn’t protest this aside from taking his arm out from under him and laying it on top of Steve’s, instead, in case he needs to use it. Handlers do not touch him this way. Handlers do not even permit him in the same room with them as they sleep, most of the time. There had been one, he thinks, who tried to touch him outside of what was permitted. He does not recall what he did to the man. He thinks it involved dismemberment, and he doesn’t regret if it does. He knows that there had been new regulations put into place afterword, and no less than three wipes in quick succession.

                He doesn’t have the urge to dismember Steve. If anything, he welcomes his touch. Steve is unendingly gentle with him. Bucky thinks this is unnecessary but he appreciates it despite that. He leans back against Steve’s chest and the small, content, sleepy noise Steve makes is worth it. This time when Bucky does sleep, it’s a bit deeper.

                All of his memories come rushing back to him. It’s pure luck that he doesn’t wake up screaming, or thrashing, or any number of other things that would’ve woken Steve up. Instead, he wakes up sweating, only starting to breathe a little hard. He slips from Steve’s arms and the bed. His arm is deactivated, but he remembers how to reactivate it now. He does so, removes the three different trackers that were in it and crushes them into warped metal. He debates leaving Steve a note, since he’s decided that he _definitely_ has to leave, but he decides against it. Steve would follow him, try to find him. It’s better if he thinks that he’s turned back into the Winter Soldier and goes on a HYDRA manhunt. He was already doing that, anyway.

                He does wander on silent feet back into the room, though. He brushes Steve’s hair out of his face gently, runs his fingertips lightly over his features. Steve doesn’t stir, except when his fingers drift down over his jaw, and he cups the side of his face in his palm. Even then, Steve only turns his face into Bucky’s hand, he doesn’t wake up. Bucky smiles softly at him. He wants nothing more than to crawl back into the bed and burrow into Steve and never, ever leave, but he knows he has to. There are triggers in him, he knows it; he can feel them, even if he isn’t sure _what_ they are. His sense of smell kept him from killing Steve before, but he’s not sure if it’ll work a second time, not if override triggers have been given to him.

                So he presses his forehead to Steve’s, just once, just for a few seconds, and then makes sure Steve is asleep when he slips out the window.

                Natasha stops him before he’s able to escape. Her eyes are cold and her pistol is eye level with him. “Natalia.” He says by way of greeting. She narrows her eyes further.

                “Mission report,” She demands of him.

                “No missions.” He says, face contorting in disgust. “Fuck missions. I’m leaving because I’ve got shit I’ve gotta work on and Steve’s not going to be safe until I do.” He pauses. “Do _not_ tell him that.” He says in Russian, switching over to the tongue easily. “I can’t have his dumb ass coming after me before I’m… better.”

                She lowers her gun. “You’re going to break his heart.” She tells him. It’s not a question.

                “I know. I’ll make up for it eventually. Don’t tell him anything, Natalia. He cannot find me before I’m… Better.”

                She nods. “I understand. If you become the Winter Soldier again…” She trails off.

                “Do what you have to. You’re the only one I can trust to. Steve’s too soft. He’d let me beat him to death, thinking the whole time that if he just hung on another second I’d remember him.”

                “If it comes to that.” She nods. “Go.”

                He does.


	2. a man who saves himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring: complete fuckery of the Civil War movie, James Barnes saving the day, and still no real Steve/Bucky reunion to speak of. This chapter goes by really fast; it's mostly a filler so that you know what's going on in Bucky's life once the actual reunion happens next chapter.

                Bucky goes to Wakanda. He’d spent a great deal of time here, with T’Chaka, before the man found out what they were doing to him. He’d tried to buy Bucky’s freedom but HYDRA hadn’t put a price on their best operative, only one on his time. He welcomes him with open arms when he gets there. Bucky explains everything to him—who he really is, what happened to him, _what_ he really is. T’Chaka agrees to help him as much as he can, agrees to build a new arm for him from vibranium, one that will allow him to shift and will completely replace his old one. He tells Bucky that he can even put his own symbol on it, if he wants, but Bucky doesn’t; he wants an arm, not a propaganda advertisement. T’Chaka’s arm is black vibranium, twice as strong at least as anything HYDRA had created, far superior on a technical standpoint, and Bucky has been kept up to date on every step of the way to see the blueprints work into a finished product. Thanks to incredible Wakandan technological advances, he’s even able to stay conscious during the 6-hour surgery it takes to install the thing, asking questions every step of the way.

                He loves the new arm. It’s much more functional for everyday life than the one HYDRA had given him; the heat and pressure sensors built into it are, frankly, amazing. He can’t feel all textures, but he can feel _most_ of them, and that in and of itself is a miracle. It even regulates its own temperature. When he shifts, it expands with his new girth, and it has claws. He has knives with him at all times in the form of the five fingers on his left hand, and they’re knives that can cut through just about anything. It’s resistant to any sort of electrical attack, and cannot be disabled by any sort of transmission. Its lightweight and he didn’t realize how heavy HYDRA’s version had been until the literal weight of it is off his shoulders. There’s an ache in his back absent now that he’d had for so long that he didn’t notice until it was gone, too.

                All in all, Bucky’s physical condition has improved a hundred fold since coming to Wakanda. He gets word of HYDRA planning a coup, though, and knows Steve will be in the thick of it, so he has no choice but to go back; trigger words still in his head or no. T’Chaka gives him special ear buds—they cancel 100% of sound, even to werewolf ears, so even if they say the triggers, he won’t hear them. He hugs him before he leaves. T’Chaka is the closest thing he’s had to a father since his actual father got alcohol poisoning and died some ten years before Bucky got drafted. He means a lot to him, he had even when Bucky had just been a mindless assassin ordered to guard him from threats for a handful of weeks at a time.

                Bucky doesn’t fight Steve on the helicarrier. Instead, he fights Rumlow. The guy had tried to shout triggers at him, when he first saw him covering Steve, but Bucky’d had his specially made earplugs in for at least twenty minutes at that point, and just gave him his blankest, most Winter Solider-esque look and beat him to a pulp. Steve came out of it with three bullet holes but successful, wide-eyed and hopeful and looking at Bucky.

                Bucky kept up his Winter Soldier mask, but when Steve fell, he abandoned it. He dove after him and he pulled him from the river and he held him tight until Natasha and Sam came and found them. “He got shot in the right leg and twice in the abdomen. He coughed up a shitton of water, his heartbeat is steady now, but he’s bleeding a lot.” He tells them.

                Natasha takes over and gives him emergency field medical, like Bucky would’ve done if he’d had any of the tools to, and calls an air-lift. Sam stares at him. “Did you just say something that wasn’t a mission report?”

                Bucky huffs. “I don’t have time for you right now.”

                Sam squawks in outrage, but Natasha talks over him. “Got some upgrades on the arm, huh? Don’t suppose you’ve got a knife in there?” Bucky blinks at her for a long moment, surprised beyond all surprise that she doesn’t have at least three on her person. Maybe she does and she’s just testing him.

                “You should have one, always, Natalia. I have five.” His arm whirs nearly imperceptibly his claws drop, but instead of offering the arm to her he pulls one out of his ankle holster. He passes it to her with his metal arm, so that she sees the claws before he retracts them. She notices, sharp as a tack as always, and takes the knife. A helicopter whirls nearby. “You should leave now.”

                Bucky doesn’t want to, but, he does.

* * *

 

                They get the triggers out of him three months later. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes is officially his own man again. He knows HYDRA has been looking for him, he’s built an intelligence network around a few continents and he knows they’re searching every place they can think of that he’d go. They’d never dream of him coming here; they’d never make it inside the walls, through the thick jungle, even if they did. Bucky made it because he’s a werewolf and a highly trained assassin; the wildlife avoided him and the guards let him in when they recognized him. He was never placed in cuffs or given an ounce of suspicion; something he criticized T’Chaka on heavily once things had been explained.

                Bucky parts from them on good terms—great terms. He promises that if they ever need him, he’ll be there. T’Chaka is as much a father to him as T’Challa is a brother. They’re held in high regards for him, second only to Steve himself.

                Bucky doesn’t go back to Steve after the triggers are gone, though. He can’t. The triggers are gone and his memories are back but he still has to work through his traumas.

                So when he’s holed up in the most remote part of Russia—halfway up a mountain, surrounded by nothing but snow and wilderness and shifting every night to work through his frustrations and inadequacies—everything goes to shit. It’s been nearly a year since the Potomac and then someone assassinates T’Chaka. Bucky’s heart breaks, and when he finds out they used _his_ face to do it, rage consumes him.

                The following weeks are a shitshow. He has to fight T’Challa, who believes video footage over him. It pains him to do it. He tries to reason with him, to tell him, “You’re like my brother, he was the only father figure I’ve had since _1926_ —I would _never_ hurt him!” But T’Challa is consumed by his own thirst for revenge. Seeing Steve breaks his heart anew, especially after he gets arrested.

                There is no freedom for a man with over two-hundred confirmed, sometimes politically influenced, kills. He’ll rot in a shield appointed prison and T’Chaka will never get his justice because his son thinks the right man has been arrested, and Steve will never move on because he’s stubborn as an ox.

                A man comes. He tries to read Bucky’s trigger words. Bucky stares blankly at him, lets him think he’s won. Then the man demands, “Mission report.” And Bucky smiles with all his teeth.

                “Read it in a file yourself, fucker.” He says, every one of his teeth pointed, and then breaks out of his cell. It was a beautifully constructed prison, but not fit for a cybernetic werewolf.

                By the time Steve bursts in, ready for a fight, Bucky is sitting mildly up against the wall with the man collapsed at his feet. “This was the man who planted the bomb. He used my face. I didn’t do it.” He tells him. Steve nods like he knew this all along. “He wanted a mission report from me. Obviously he didn’t get it.”

                Tony Stark chooses that moment to burst in, iron gauntlets at the ready. Bucky quickly and efficiently immobilizes him, both thrusters twisted towards Tony’s own lower back in an instant. “Easy, Stark,” He says, calm. Stark doesn’t go easy; he thrashes, hard. Bucky’s grip is ironclad. He keeps Tony’s hands as they were with his metal one, clamps down on the back of Tony’s neck with his flesh hand. “I said _easy_ ,” He huffs, and the man relaxes involuntarily. “We have things to talk about. You’re on my list of confessions that need to be made. I don’t want to fight you. You have the man who planted the bomb. I have unfinished business.” He doesn’t hurt Stark. He takes his gauntlets from him and shoves him into Steve, who looks dumbfounded, probably due to Bucky’s _excellent_ communication skills, and he leaves them.

                He manages to escape from T’Challa with minimal injury to both of them, and finds out, later, when he’s gone to kill the other abominations like himself, that the man who planted the bombs had somehow escaped too. How, he’ll never know. He left him in a vault with Iron Man and Captain America, unconscious.

                Still, after he’s dispatched the others, the man shows up. He’s behind doomsday glass, taunting, trying to get a rise from him. Steve and Tony appear from nowhere. The man starts playing video footage on a laptop in the room. Bucky’s claws slice through it as he turns to look Tony in the eye.

                “I killed your parents.” He confirms, voice heavy. “I didn’t want to do it. I knew Howard during the war; he was a friend. I didn’t know any friends while I was the Winter Soldier. There aren’t enough apologies in the world for what I did, I know it, you know it. If you want to beat the shit out of me, I’ll let you, but not here, not for this guy.”

                Tony’s quiet for so long that Bucky thinks he might’ve broken him. He can hear the heart thudding in his chest, though, strong and wild and terrified. He smells angry and like he’s going through mourning all over again. He nods imperceptibly and Steve directs them to trying to catch their would-be downfall. Bucky knows full well how this man had anticipated this going; Tony outraged, attacking Bucky, Steve defending him as always, chaos.

                When they leave the compound, T’Challa has the man in a chokehold. He looks at Bucky regretfully, but Bucky shakes his head. He understands what happened between them couldn’t be avoided. He would’ve come after him, too. “We’ll sort through our issues later, brother, it’s on my list.” He tells him with a small grin. T’Challa returns it.

                T’Challa wants to take them back to Wakanda. Bucky politely declines. He doesn’t stick around to see if Steve takes him up on the offer. He takes his leave, promising Tony that he’ll get his closure next time.

                Steve tries to stop him, but Bucky, ever the expert, ducks him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine!


	3. what happens when you find a wolf in winter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You take him home and hope he doesn't eat you alive."
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you like the thrilling conclusion to this! For reference: Civil War in this universe happened only in the sense of Tony wanting to bring Bucky in so he can pay for his crimes, thinking he's guilty, and Steve "Over My Dead Body" Rogers doing what he's known for: being stubborn. We're ignoring the whole bit with the Accords because it honestly doesn't fit anywhere in line with this 'verse.

Bucky goes back to his retreat in the mountains. Steve lasts longer than he would’ve thought before he comes searching for him. His cabin’s great, he’s got internet, cable, several rooms, and it’s decorated exactly as he would’ve liked. It was mostly a well-meaning shack before he left; he suspects the transformation has no small part to do with T’Challa.

                It’s been eight months. Bucky’s been shifting every night, hunting, appreciating the local village’s stories of the monster on the mountain. He’s never hurt any of them, not really. Spooked a few of them, but all in good fun. Sometimes he does steal their cattle; but only one or two, here or there, never enough to make a lasting impact on anybody. He’s made a sort of peace with himself. He wrote a lot of journals, those first months, tried to track down a lot of people on the internet—people he’d wronged, people he wanted to find out the fates of from before he got brainwashed and lost seventy years. He writes it all down, and it’s all paper and incredibly extensive. He watches a lot of movies and tries to acclimate himself to the new time period he’s found himself in through the internet and Netflix.

                He’s doing a mostly successful job of it by the time Steve wanders onto his mountain and gets half gored by wolves. Bucky saves his ass, of course, but Steve takes a nasty fall down a crevice and takes a hit so hard to the head that Bucky wonders if he’ll know which way is up when he regains consciousness.

                The first time, he doesn’t. He’s got a mess of an ankle from where a wolf yanked him over the edge, there’s a branch sticking straight through his thigh, and the rest of him is wracked with bruises of every shade known to man. Bucky’s shifted, carrying him over his furred shoulder, because it’s warmer and he’s stronger that way. He mutters something nonsensical about how bears don’t carry their prey upright, and Bucky chuffs and shakes his head. He’s huge in this form; as large as a bear if not larger, shaped like a man with a body covered in fur and the head of a wolf and a tail like one. He’s covered head to toe in dark, nearly black fur, interspersed with flecks of grey and white throughout. He doesn’t have the brain of a wolf, though, just some of the instincts of one. He can understand human speech just as easily, but he can’t talk back. A wolf muzzle is just not conductive to forming any type of words, only noises. Actual wolves understand his meanings, to an extent; case in point, him telling them to fuck off or he’d eat them alive when they came to the bottom of the ravine for Steve.

                He takes Steve back to his house, patches him up, and curls up with him to work some warmth back into his body. He wonders idly how long Steve had searched for him, wandering around in the cold. It hurts his heart. He whines quietly, but Steve is dead to the world exhausted, so he doesn’t notice. Bucky stays with him a long time, until when he touches Steve’s toes they’re warmer than room temperature. He shifts back, makes some food, and worries for the next six hours until Steve wakes, screaming, from a nightmare.

                “Shh, Stevie, shh, s’okay,” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around him and drawing him into his chest as gently as possible. Steve whines when he makes an attempt to curl on top of him, desperate for contact. “Hush, sweetheart, you’re fine. You’re fine. You’re not in the ice, you’re not. You’re safe.” Steve mumbles nonsense at him in response.

                Bucky shushes him and comforts him for the better part of an hour. Eventually, Steve settles, boneless and still shivering. Bucky runs his hands through his hair, gentle, careful of the stitched gash near his temple. Once he’s gotten his breath back, Steve says, very quietly, “Who are you?”

                Bucky curses every deity he can think of in every language he knows. “James Buchanan Barnes,” He introduces, a lifetime later. “My friends call me Bucky.”

                “Bucky,” Steve says carefully, like he’s feeling the word out in his mouth.

                “How’d you know we’re friends?”

                “Y’called me sweetheart, we better be friends,” Steve shoots back, and Bucky grins a bit. He remembers this part. Him sniping, Steve sniping back. Steve’s always been sharp as a tack.

                “Yeah, pal, of course we are. It’d be great if you could remember me, though.” He shuffles down a bit so he can nuzzle into Steve’s hair and breath him in. God, he’d missed the smell of him. He sort of wants to rub himself all over Steve, so that he can smell like Steve for a little while, and Steve can smell like him, too. Steve huffs.

                “Amnesia doesn’t work like that. I can’t just _will_ my memories back.”

                Bucky is silent for a long time and then laughter explodes from his chest. Steve says, “What’s so funny?” And it takes Bucky a long time to actually get himself under control enough to say “Buddy, ain’t that the truth.”

                “Why does my leg hurt?” Steve asks, which sobers Bucky up nicely.

                “Well. Your dumb ass decided to climb halfway up a mountain to visit me, got lost, got chased by wolves, one of which mauled your ankle, and then you fell a hundred feet and impaled yourself on branch, and cracked your head real good.” He hums thoughtfully. “I think that about covers it. Oh, you were half-frozen when I found you, too.”

                “Explains the amnesia. Feelin’ pretty warm, though.”

                “That’s ‘cause I’m a space heater. And you’re under like six blankets and a few furs.”

                “Well, I appreciate that.” Steve tells him, sounding sleepy and nuzzling up under his neck. He wraps his arms around him, too, and Bucky could probably die happy in that moment. It’d been a long time since anyone touched him like this, since he got to feel anyone close. Since he got to be close to _Steve_. He was the closest thing to a pack Bucky had.

                “Yeah, no problem, bud. Just get better, okay? You’ve got me worried sick. You remember anything? Sam’s phone number, maybe?”

                Steve hums thoughtfully for a moment, and sounds like he’s about to fall asleep. “Nope.” Bucky rolls his eyes because no more than ten seconds later Steve’s fast asleep again. He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs his phone, dials Natasha.

                “What.” She answers. There are gunshots in the background.     

                “Natalia. There’s an American national icon asleep on my chest and he’s got amnesia.”

                “…what.” She demands, cautious.

                “Good god, I’m not going to _eat_ him.” He huffs. “He’s pretty beat up, though. I figured he probably brought Wilson with him too, but I didn’t see him. I don’t have his number, either, so I called you as a courtesy, in case your fella is lying in a ditch somewhere.”

                She makes an outraged noise on the other end of the line, where the other background noise has gone quiet. “He’s _not_ my ‘fella’.”

                Bucky rolls his eyes. “Sure he’s not.  Anyway, call him, let him know that Stevie here is safe and sound, make sure he’s not bleeding in a cave. There are bears. And wolves. A _lot_ of wolves.”

                “Sam can _fly_.” She protests.

                “I’ve seen wolves snatch turkey right out of the air, Natalia. I have an idiot to take care of, make sure yours is alright too.” Then he hangs up.

                Steve hasn’t stirred from his side, breathing and heartbeat even. Bucky runs his flesh and blood hand idly through Steve’s hair, ever careful of his injuries. Steve makes a quiet, pleased noise in his sleep and Bucky’s heart practically leaps out of his body and into Steve’s chest. He could probably stay right here for the rest of his life. He has to do things, though, so he pries himself away from Steve’s side, careful not to wake him up, and goes to fix himself some food. After he’s eaten his fill, he’s halfway through cleaning Steve’s wounds again and re-wrapping them when his phone rings.

                He answers without looking to see who it is. Only two people have his number. “Go get him.” Natasha says immediately, without preamble.

                “Excuse me? Steve’s sleeping, I’m not waking him up so he can talk to you.”

                “Not Steve. Sam. Go get him.” She’s practically snarling. Bucky thinks she’d make a great werewolf. She’d definitely turn out an alpha, a commanding presence like hers couldn’t be anything but. He’d given thought to turning her, once upon a time. When she was much younger, and he’d been out of cryo for far too long, training her and the other spiderlings. She’d been his best student, and he saw what the Red Room did to them once they grew up. He didn’t want that future for her. He was put back on ice before he could execute his decision. He wonders, now, if she would accept him if he asked. He’s not sure; he can’t read her as well as he used to. Time has changed her.

                “I don’t know where Sam is, Natalia, we had this conversation not twenty minutes ago.”

                “He’s in a cavern on the western side of the mountain. His wings got iced and he only just barely got enough juice out of what was left to charge his phone enough that he answered my call. Go find him or I swear—“

                “Save the threats, Natalia, you know you can’t beat me in a fight. I’ll find your man. I know this mountain like the back of my hand. I’ll call you later.” He ends the call, finishes patching Steve up again, and then gently shakes him awake. He seems confused, at first, but then he smiles a little.

                “Heya, Buck.”

                “Hi there, buddy. I gotta go out for a little while, okay? Don’t freak out if you wake up and I’m not here. Try to stay off your leg as much as possible, and try not to stand up in general, ‘cause of your head injury. I’ll be back soon.” He brushes the hair out of Steve’s face and Steve nods sleepily, a soft smile on his face.

                “Kay. Thanks, Buck.” Bucky rubs his back comfortingly before he gets up to leave. He closes the door behind him, packs a duffle full of spare clothes for himself and for Sam, when he finds him, and shifts before he heads out.

                It takes him nearly an hour to catch Sam’s scent. He follows it for several miles before he comes upon what is possibly the smallest cave he’s ever seen. Sam would’ve had to crawl into it to fit—Bucky’s definitely not going to fit. Not shifted, not otherwise. He peers down into the small space and finds that it’s actually much larger inside, only the mouth of the cave is small. A good choice—wolves won’t have tried to get in and a bear wouldn’t stand a chance at getting inside. He can just squeeze his furred head through the entrance to look around. He squints, ears perked for any sign of life, and eventually his eyes settle on Sam, curled up at the very back of the cave, shivering and staring right at him. He looks like he’s holding his breath. Bucky, with no small measure of difficulty, pulls his head back out of the cavern, lopes over to slip underneath a huge fir, shift, pull on some clothes, and then make his way back to the cave. Sam looks no happier to see him than he did when he thought he was just a normal (over grown) wolf.

                “Hey, pal. Why don’t you c’mon out a minute? I got some nice winter clothes here—“ That’s as far as he gets, waving the duffle in front of the hole, before Sam lunges forward and heaves it inside. Bucky’s arm almost goes with it. In a few seconds, Sam is clad head-to-toe in Bucky’s clothing. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “Feeling a little better?”

                “S-s-s-shut your m-m-mouth, B-Barnes,” He chatters. “T-there was a f-fuckin’ _wolf_ ,” He exclaims, gesticulating wildly. Bucky nods.

                “That’s great, pal, you can tell me all about it once I get you back to my cabin. Steve’s already there, in case you were wondering.”

                Sam’s still looking at him like he might bite his head off. Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m not letting you freeze to death, if only because of the insanely angry Russian it would leave me to deal with.”

                Sam makes a noise that might be a chuckle, if he could muster up enough energy for it. He gestures Bucky away from the cave’s opening and then he crawls out. “It’s about an hour’s hike, you gonna make it? I had to lug Steve up this mountain once already.” Sam makes an annoyed noise and gestures for Bucky to lead the way, so he does. He keeps the pace slow, since Sam’s still trying to work the stiffness out of his muscles, but Bucky does eventually give up and throw Sam, squawking, over his shoulder. Sam puts up a fight for all of fifteen seconds before he realizes that Bucky’s a heater and shoves his cold face up against Bucky’s neck. Bucky shivers and suppresses a growl, just barely, because he knows that Sam has no idea about how rude it is to stick your face in a werewolf’s neck when you’re basically strangers.

                He tosses Sam, now unconscious, down on the bed next to Steve, who stirs but doesn’t wake. He strips Sam of the thick jacket he put on then tucks him under the covers. He doesn’t bother with Sam’s shoes because the man has already snuggled under the covers and made himself comfortable. Bucky rolls his eyes.  

                “Do you have him?” Natasha asks as soon as she answers. Bucky could roll his eyes out of his head.

                “No, Natalia, I called to tell you I found him frozen and getting gnawed on by animals.” He drawls sarcastically. “Yes, I have him. He’s spooning Steve something fierce right now. It’s disgusting. Congratulations.” He makes a face at the pair, but abandons them to head into the living room and chat with Natasha. He gives her the address and she agrees to be there in a week’s time to collect both of them—possibly the three of them, she adds.

                Bucky doesn’t give her a yes or no answer. He does let her off the phone, though, and now that it’s nearly night, he fixes himself dinner and sets up the guest room for when Sam wakes up. Steve could sleep in his bed until the day he dies. Sam Wilson? Not so much. He’s only letting it happen now because he knows the guy is cold and the majority of the house’s blankets are in there. Plus, he and Steve are pretty good buddies, so he figures Sam might jog his memory, and that he’ll appreciate seeing Steve alive with his own two eyes.

                Bucky ends up asleep on the couch. He doesn’t hear Steve wake up, or come into the room. What he does hear, though, is Steve’s sharp intake of breath from just above him. Bucky shoots up, immediately ready for something horrible to have gone wrong, for Steve’s wound to have reopened, something. Instead, he sees Steve, lingering over the back of the couch, a blush high on his cheeks and his mouth hanging open. Bucky’s seen that look before. It’s the look he used to get when he was skinny as a stick and Bucky would take his shirt off and stretch after a long day at the docks.

                “Hi,” He says, grinning. “Your leg okay? What’re you doing out of bed? It’s too early for you to be up.” The clock on the microwave reads 6:23AM. Steve swallows thickly.

“I got tired of being cooped up, wanted to stretch my legs out. I usually go for a run right about now, I think, but it’s not gonna happen given…” He gestured down at his wrapped ankle, which, now that he looked, was starting to stain the bandages. Bucky cursed.           

                “Shit, you dumbass, c’mon, I’ll fix you up again.” He herded Steve into the bathroom and sat him down on the toilet lid, unwrapped his ankle and got to work. Steve cringed at the damage he saw. It looked like it’d only just closed up, the worst of it, and the rest of it was pink scar tissue going all the way around his ankle. He’d been missing chunks of skin when Bucky found him. Bucky slathers on a thick layer of salve and wraps it up in clean bandages, throwing the dirty ones in the bin next to the sink. “Your thigh is twice as bad; in case you were wondering. Had a piece of wood stickin’ straight through it.”

                Steve grimaces. “Yeah, that explains why it hurts so bad.” He offers, still making a face. Bucky shakes his head.

                “You gotta rest some more, Stevie. No more stretching your legs without a crutch so you don’t have to put any weight on this thing. You’re gonna need at least another two or three days, maybe more, before these are closed enough that you can start doing some light moving.”

                “Didn’t know you were a doctor, Buck.” Steve says, pouting. Bucky rolls his eyes. Same old stubborn, snarky Steve.

                “I’m not a doctor, but I know when a fella needs to stay down. And pal, you need to stay down. I know you’re weird about hygiene, so I can set you up a bath later, and you can lean on the sink to brush your teeth, but you’ve gotta take it easy. I’m serious.” He gives him his most endearing face, hoping it’ll convince him to listen. He doubts it, but he’s got to hope.

                Steve slumps, which means Bucky’s won. “Okay,” He says, no small amount of dejectedness in his voice. “I will. Can I… Can I hang out in the living room with you, though? Sam keeps sniffling in my ear.”

                Bucky frowns a little. “You remember Sam?”

                Steve frowns back. “Sure. Why? Is that weird?”

                “It’s a little weird that you remember him and not me, yeah.” Bucky answers, careful. “What _do_ you remember?”

                “Everything since I woke up from a coma a couple years ago, I think. I didn’t remember you at first, but I remember seeing you on a bridge, now. You were trying to kill me. And then you weren’t. You thought I was your handler, but I said we were friends. But I don’t remember meeting you before that day on the bridge.” Steve explains, frowning all the while, like he’s perplexed at his own brain for the way it’s confusing him.

                Bucky takes a deep, steadying breath. “You sure can hang out with me in the living room, pal. We gotta get your memories back somehow, huh? Freshen up in here and I’ll get you a crutch so you don’t have to have me helping you around everywhere, yeah?”

                Steve nods. “Okay.” He looks like he wants to say more, like there are questions on the tip of his tongue. Bucky can hear his heart beating like it wants to escape his chest. He waits a few seconds but Steve doesn’t say anything, so he leaves him to it.

                Steve calls him over and he’s clean-shaven, seems to have found a rag somewhere and cleaned the majority of the blood that was caked on him, off, and the dirt, and he definitely brushed his teeth, because he smells a bit minty. He definitely doesn’t smell as much like sweat and dirt as he used to. He lets Bucky wrap his arm around his waist and he leans against him as he moves him to the couch in the living room. He settles against his side, and Bucky wants to preen at the closeness. At how Steve smells almost exclusively like him, under all the grime. He smells a little like Sam, but it’s nothing compared to the scent Bucky’s left on him. He smells _right_. Just as pack should. He pulls the blanket he’d used last night over the two of them, makes sure to tuck it around Steve’s feet so they don’t get cold, and turns on Netflix.

                Steve is asleep halfway through the third episode of Bob’s Burgers. Bucky doesn’t really care, because that means that Steve’s shifted around to put his head on Bucky’s chest, stretched out and comfortable.

                Sam wanders in around three hours later, after Bucky’s dozed off as well. Bucky wakes up when he comes in, eyes narrowed at him, displeased. Sam just puts his hands up in defense, shuffles his way into the kitchen, gets something to eat, and then starts to shuffle back. “Go down the hall, last door on the right. That’s the guest room. Feel free to take a couple extra blankets from my bed if you’re still cold.” He tells him, and Sam grumbles, going into the room, getting the largest blanket, and then trudging down the hallway to the guest room and closing the door. Bucky snorts. Steve’s friends are weird.

                Bucky turns his head into Steve’s unruly hair and rumbles low in his chest, contented at Steve’s easy breathing and carefree scent. Things are perfect for all of a minute before Steve starts stirring with the beginnings of a nightmare. Bucky hushes him, rubs his back, makes soft, crooning noises of comfort into his ear. Bucky feels so much pride rush through him when it actually works that it might actually overwhelm him for a minute or two. He wants to turn Steve. He always has, really, since he was turned himself a lifetime ago. When Steve had a smaller body, Bucky could picture him as a beta, or a strong-willed omega. Now he doesn’t know what Steve would be; he’s a great leader, like an alpha, has a soft heart, like an omega, and keeps a cool head in times of stress, like a beta. The only thing Bucky knows for sure is that Steve would be the best addition to his pack in decades. He misses the Howling Commandos like burning, but Steve had turned him down where the others had accepted him, so he knows that he’d still turn him down now. He’s pack, but only to Bucky. The only pack Bucky has left.

                Steve stirs, as if sensing his distress. Bucky gathers him up more fully into his lap, ever gentle of the injuries Steve’s got. Bucky’s struck again by how sensitive Steve is to his emotions—how he’d make an excellent wolf. He’s already in tune with every nuance of Bucky’s behavior, even when he doesn’t know him at all. Steve’s stubborn, and determined, and he never gives up a fight. He’s perfect. Bucky’s ashamed that he’s given thought to just… Biting him. Not asking, not waiting for a rejection, just doing it. Steve would forgive him. Bucky knows it, Steve knows it, anyone who’s gone to their section in the museum knows that there is naught that Bucky Barnes could do that Steve Rogers wouldn’t forgive him for.

                But Bucky will never do that. He might’ve, before the war, when Steve’s breaths rattled in his lungs and Bucky was so sick with worry that he thought he’d pace a hole straight through their floor. He got real close to doing it, the night before he left. He’d begged Steve to let him. They’d argued, shouted, and Steve said no again and again and again and Bucky had shoved him up against a wall, pinned his tiny frame without so much as needing to do anything but lean his weight against him, teeth pointed and bared and—and then he’d just broken down, started crying. He fell to his knees and he hugged Steve to him and sobbed about how sorry he was, how he didn’t mean it, how he hoped Steve didn’t hate him now. Steve pet his hair with trembling fingers and told him that it was okay. He’d said “I know you didn’t mean it, Buck. I know you wouldn’t do that to me. You’d never hurt me.” But it wasn’t just his fingers that were trembling, his whole body was shaking, and Bucky could smell how scared he was, could hear his fragile little heart tripping up in his body. So Bucky just pressed his face into Steve’s stomach and cried harder. He’d wailed like a baby, honestly, and he wasn’t proud of it, but there was no lie in it. There was no lie in anything he’d said that night.

                His eyes had still been red when he left for the war the next morning.

                Every time he felt the urge to do it after that, though, every time Steve told him no; Bucky thought back to those trembling hands in his hair. To the way Steve’s heart had been racing as hard as it could. To the acrid scent of terror in his best guy’s scent, that _Bucky_ had put there. He’d never have the heart to do it, after that. He’d rather yank his own fangs out of his head than have his Stevie ever be terrified of him again. That had been the only night that being a werewolf had ever made him feel like a monster.

                Carefully, he shakes Steve awake. “C’mon, pal, time for breakfast.” Steve makes a displeased noise, shifting further under the blanket Bucky draped on him.

                “Five more minutes.” He mumbles. Bucky snorts. That’s his line.

                “I’ll let you doze while I start cookin’, but you better get up once it’s done.” He pets Steve’s head, gets a grunt in response, and then shifts him off his lap. Steve curls up against the back of the couch instead, mostly still asleep, but blinking drowsily every few minutes. Sam is drawn back out of the guest room by the scent of good food, but he sits at the table like a zombie. Bucky rolls his eyes. You’d think that two ex-military men would be able to handle themselves in the morning, but evidently not. Bucky gets a pot of coffee started for them, since they’re clearly going to need it.

                Halfway through fixing the waffles, Steve limps himself in and plunks down in the chair next to Sam. He looks a little bit more awake than the last time Bucky saw him, but not by much. He’s definitely more awake than Sam, though. He sits a cup of coffee in front of each of them and watches with a small curl to his lips as their entire demeanor changes at the first sip. By the time he’s finished the food and starts sitting it in front of them, they’ve started talking quietly.

                Bucky sits down across from Steve, and ignores Sam’s suspicious looks his direction. Steve eats without even really stopping to look at what’s been set down in front of him, and Bucky preens a bit when Steve seems like he likes it. It’s a simple breakfast; eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, hash browns that he made from a pre-frozen package he got at the store because he’s too lazy to grate potatoes himself. Sam starts eating once it’s clear the food isn’t poisoned. Bucky rolls his eyes and eats his own food quietly.

                Steve starts to get up to do the dishes when he’s done, but Sam stops him and does them instead. Bucky doesn’t thank him because he doesn’t really know the guy and hadn’t asked him to do that.

                The clock on the stove now reads 10:45AM. Bucky hums quietly. “You want that bath now?” He asks Steve. Steve nods.

                “God, yeah. I feel gross.”

                “’Kay. Lemme find the saran wrap,” He tells him, shuffling through his cupboards and drawers. Eventually he comes up with it, holding it up triumphantly. Steve snorts softly. “What? Your ankle and your thigh need to be kept dry. Sitting them in stagnant soapy water won’t help your condition.”

                “Man’s got a point.” Sam nodded. “You’ve looked better.”

                “I could still lap you.” Steve said, ever the stubborn one. Bucky rolls his eyes.

                “Try it and we’re gonna have a problem, Steve.”

                Steve slumps into his seat, muttering about having friends who worry too much. Bucky tugs Steve up and leads him to the bathroom attached to his room, sits him down on the toilet, and goes about cleaning his wounds again, wrapping them up, and then wrapping them again in the plastic wrap and sealing it off with medical tape. He draws Steve a bath, not too hot but warm enough to be relaxing. He shows him all of the soaps, then instructs him to be careful, and helps him lower himself down into the water once he’s stripped out of his clothes. Steve never was a shy guy.

                “I’ll leave you to it, buddy.” Bucky says, patting his back comfortingly. Steve makes a noncommittal noise, already set to work with the body wash to soap himself up and get rid of all the dried blood and grime. The water is already a grey-brown color. He shows him how to work the controls so that he can drain the water and fill it back up if he needs to, then leaves him to it.

                Sam’s waiting for him in the living room when he comes back out. “So.” He says, and Bucky already doesn’t want to have whatever conversation this is about to be. “You were pretty out of it the first time we met.”

                Bucky levels him with his most unimpressed glare and pulls his hair back into a low-seated ponytail. “Yeah. Mind control. Fucks with shit.”

                “…and you want me to believe you just, what, un-fucked your shit?” Sam asks, just as unimpressed. Bucky rolls his eyes.    

                “No, it’s still fucked. I’m just managing it. It wasn’t… They took things out of my head and put other things in, and if I didn’t do what they told me to they used pain as a tool for reconditioning. They left me just blank enough that I would listen to that. They didn’t make me _mindless_.” He shrugs. “A soldier would be pretty fucking useless if they couldn’t make split-decisions based on factors in the field. If I couldn’t decide what was important to the mission and what wasn’t. They couldn’t take the ability to make decisions away from me without making me obsolete. They made it so I only made decisions that were mission-important. Eat when necessary, sleep when necessary, that sort of shit.”

                “And you decided that going with Steve was good for your mission?” Sam asks, raising a brow. Bucky doesn’t blame him for not trusting him.

                “No.” He says simply. “Going with Steve was betrayal, something they would’ve killed me for, if they’d had the chance.”

                “So why go with him, then?”

                “Because he was familiar. I’d never run into someone familiar before. The only people I’d known for seventy years were HYDRA, and they were hardly good company. Can you blame me for sticking with someone when I got a positive feeling from them being around?”

                Sam narrows his eyes, but seems to accept his answer. “And then you just ran off? Cap thought you went back to them.”

                “I wanted him to think so. There were trackers in the old arm. Hydra was probably already on my trail when I left.”

                “Where’d you get the new arm?”

                “A friend.”

                “You have friends?”

                Bucky makes a face. “Had. He died.”

                Steve limps into the room at that moment, nothing but a towel around his waist. “Are you two fighting?”

                “No,” They say simultaneously. Steve narrows his eyes at them suspiciously.

                “I thought I told you to stay off that leg?” He says, frowning. Steve shrugs.

                “I could hear the two of you in the bathroom.”

                “Well,” Bucky says with no intention of continuing. He huffs. Steve looks monumentally better now that he’s showered and clean. He’s also very, very naked.

                “Go put on a shirt before you poke somebody’s eye out,” Bucky shoos, handing Steve the crutch he’d fished out of the closet while arguing with Sam. Steve gives a big, put-upon sigh but obligingly uses the cane to go back into Bucky’s room and put on some clothes. Bucky’s relieved to not have to see the still-fading bruises littered all over Steve’s body anymore. The fall had really beaten him up. He looks at Sam after Steve’s gone.

                “Natasha’s coming in 6 days to get you and Steve. Try to hold off on making me want to kill you until after she gets here. Being Steve’s pal won’t save you.” That’s a lie, but Bucky doesn’t tell him that. The last thing he wants to do is hurt anyone that Steve cares about.

                “You’re not coming with us?” Steve says, frowning, as he comes back in the room. Bucky hears Sam chuckle as he heads back to the guest room, probably at his expense. He scratches at the back of his neck.

                “I don’t know, Steve. You don’t remember, but I’ve been through some shit.” He makes a face. “I think I’m through the worst of it, but I haven’t been around other people very much to test that out. Living in a big tower in one of the most populated cities in America might not be the best idea for me.”

                Steve frowns but nods. “Oh.” He says. “Okay.” But nothing on his face says that it’s okay, and his scent has turned sour with sadness too, Bucky can smell it all the way across the room. He sighs.

                “I’ll think about it some more though. If you remember me before you leave, I’ll even go with you for a couple weeks, just to check it out.” Honestly, it’s a wonder that he’s been able to deny Steve anything, ever.

                “Yeah?” Steve asks, looking up at him through his lashes hopefully. Bucky knows when he’s defeated—he nods.

                “Yeah.”

                Two days later, Steve’s wounds are all bright-pink scar tissue and though he’s still limping, he doesn’t have to use the crutch anymore. He can stand in his own shower without Bucky worrying that he’s going to slip and fall to his death or reopen all of his wounds. Bucky hates Sam marginally less, now that they’ve been forced into close quarters. He thinks Sam might even be starting to trust him, too, if only because he’s watched the way Bucky acts with Steve. He knows Sam’s watching them, too, he can hear his nearly silent intakes of breath every time he gets within two feet of him. Bucky doesn’t reassure him, though he himself is sure he won’t hurt Steve; he hadn’t when HYDRA wanted him to, and he would never of his own volition. Just like Bucky knows he could beat Steve black and blue and the dumbass would just take it, he knows he’d do the same if their roles were reversed.

                The night before Natasha comes to get them, Bucky wakes up to Steve standing teary-eyed in front of the couch he’s sleeping on. “Buck.” He says, quietly. “ _Buck_.” And then he’s sobbing. Sam comes out to investigate, because Steve’s a loud, ugly-crier, always has been, but retreats when he sees that Bucky has him cradled to his chest, talking in low tones.

                He mumbles nonsense, really. Sometimes he doesn’t even use real words at all, just makes comforting sounds, soothing rumbles from deep in his chest in an effort to calm him down. He moves them into his room, closes the door quietly, and then crowds Steve into the bed. Steve’s shown no signs of calming down in the past twenty minutes, so he takes a different tactic. He tells Steve about Wakanda, and T’Chaka, and getting his new arm, tells him about how great it had felt the first time he’d shifted after, in the dense jungle, how he’d finally felt free again. Bucky tells him about all the times he’s shifted since then, how each time it was just as exhilarating as the last and, “You would’ve believe it, Stevie, it’s just the wildest sensation you’d ever have. Like you can still think like a normal person but all the shit that eats at you just don’t matter anymore, all that matters is running and howling and getting a meal and protecting what’s yours. You don’t even have to worry about bigger predators out here, or nothin’. Russian bears don’t have shit on a werewolf with a metal arm.” And Steve finally lets out a quiet, watery chuckle. Bucky keeps going. He tells him about his journals, and all the shit he’s gone through, and the lists and lists of people he has to make amends to. He tells him about the list of people he doesn’t, because they got what they deserved. He tells him how he scared the shit out of Sam by poking his wolf head in his hiding place, about how honored he felt that Natasha sent him after her guy, no matter how much griping he’d done.

                By the time he’s told Steve just about all he can think to tell, Steve’s smiling with his face smashed into Bucky’s neck and there are still some tears, but they’re happy, now, Bucky thinks. “I missed you, jerk.” He sniffles, voice all fond. Bucky nuzzles into his golden hair happily, heart once again tugged toward Steve. If his heart could jump ship and abandon him for Steve, it would’ve done it over seventy years ago. Distantly, Bucky thinks that maybe it did, and he’s only just now beginning to get it back.

                “I missed you too, punk.” He tells him and bends so he can kiss his forehead, his whole body feeling the fierce need for Steve to know it. His arms cling to him tighter, a small noise escaping him when Steve not only accepts it but leans into it and clings back.

                “Come with me,” Steve chokes, pleading. Bucky knows if he says no, Steve will drop it—he won’t ask again. “Please.” Steve adds. Bucky’s done for. 

                “Yeah, sweetheart, ‘course I will.” He answers after only a moment’s consideration. “You gotta muzzle me good on full moons though, ‘kay? Don’t let me eat any of your friends.” As expected, Steve huffs.

                “I ain’t never muzzled you before, James Barnes, I’m sure as shit not gonna do it now.” Steve says, same as he always did. Bucky’s reminded of how much he loves him, then. Not that he’d ever really forgotten.

                “Don’t suppose you have, huh?” He offers, his own voice a little watery to his ears. Steve presses a small kiss to his collarbone in reassurance, fingers twisted in his shirt. They don’t say anything else after that. They hold each other tight, Bucky makes sure to rub his scent all over Steve, content to find that 95% of his bruising is gone and his larger wounds have faded to the color of years-old scar tissue, nearly white. They exchange a few soft, emotional kisses, none of them on the lips and all of them far too brief.

                In the morning, Natasha wakes him up by looming over the bed. “Go away.” He tells her. She doesn’t. “Sam’s in the last room on the right down the hall, go away.” She still stays. Steve snuffles against his chest, rubs his face against it, and then turns so that he can press his face up higher, tucked under his chin so the light of the hallway doesn’t reach him anymore. Bucky envies him.

                “You said Steve was injured.” She accuses. He squints at her. “That he didn’t remember.”

                “He was injured, and he didn’t, but now he does. Sam lost a finger.” He tells her. Her eyes widen just a fraction and then she turns and leaves the room in four quick steps. Bucky rolls over toward Steve so his back can face the light, yawns quietly, and closes his eyes. She’s back a minute later.

                “He did not.” She announces.

                “Let us _sleep_ ,” He moans miserably. “Can’t you go snuggle your fella for a few hours? Ask him to tell you about the wolf he saw when I came to get ‘im, or somethin’, Natalia, I’m _exhausted_.” And he is. It can’t have been more than two hours ago that he and Steve had finally fallen asleep after the emotional breakdown Steve had from getting his memories back. He hears more than he sees her tilt her head thoughtfully, though the shadow on the wall helps.

                “Four hours.” Natasha declares and then leaves again, this time closing the door behind her. He listens to her footfalls all the way to Sam’s door, listens to their quiet greetings for a second, then is drawn back to himself when Steve sleepily mutters, “Buck?”

                “It was just Natasha. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Steve nods against him and is asleep again almost instantly. Bucky lets out a fond puff of air against the top of Steve’s head but drifts off to the sound of his breathing anyway.

                It’s no less than six hours later that they get up. Bucky knows, because he knows how his body acts on everywhere from 1 to 15 hours of uninterrupted REM cycle, and this is squarely at 6 hours. It’s not Natasha that wakes him up, though, it’s Steve, who has decided to sit square on top of his chest like he’s still five foot nothing and light enough that the wind could carry him off.

                “You meant what you said last night, right? You’ll come back with me?” Steve asks, his eyes intense. Bucky grunts a little.

                “You didn’t have to pin me down like I was gonna run from you, doll,” He drawls, “But yeah, of course I meant it. Who else is gonna keep you from doing dumb shit like flying planes into icebergs and jumpin’ off ‘em without a ‘shute?” Steve’s blush spreads across his face and disappears down his neck to under the hem of Bucky’s shirt.

                “I also jumped out of a stalled elevator,” Steve mumbles, and Bucky narrows his eyes. “From seven stories up.” Bucky lets out an outraged squawk and shoves himself up, throws himself bodily on top of Steve and pins him instead.

                “I changed my mind,” He announces, “ _You’re_ staying _here_. Forever. Someone else can go be Captain America, your risk-taking ass is staying right here in slightly-inhabited Russia with me.” Steve stares up at him, not a hint of worry on his features even though an ex-assassin is draped over him and holding both his hands down. He looks a little hopeful, honestly, but mostly his eyes are dark as they flit over Bucky’s face, pupils wide.

                “Yeah,” He says. “Okay.” He says.

                Bucky wants to howl. He also wants to eat Steve Rogers whole. It’s conflicting, but he doesn’t get a chance to make a decision because Sam comes in at that moment. He looks at them for several seconds and then says, quietly, “We’re ready to go whenever you are.”

                He reluctantly lets Steve up, though it’s one of the last things he really wants to do. He gets dressed, packs a sparse bag, makes Steve put on far too many layers, and goes with them down the mountain, to the jet waiting for them, and straight back to the Avenger’s tower.

                He gets a room on Steve’s floor, but he doesn’t use it. He takes all his shit straight to Steve’s room and unpacks by way of dumping it all on the floor. He puts his sniper rifle, still in its case, under Steve’s bed, and stashes no less than three knives around the room for emergency situations, and then collapses face-first into a bed that smells like Steve and nothing else.

                When Steve comes in to see how he’s doing, Bucky is wearing a pair of Steve’s boxers, nothing else, and is rolled up in Steve’s blanket and sheets like a burrito. Steve lobs the extra pillow he’d brought at Bucky, who lets out a small noise as it makes impact with his blanket burrito, but otherwise doesn’t react. He’s too blissed out right now, surrounded by nothing but Steve’s scent. It doesn’t seem like anyone else has ever been in the room, no one but him, a thought that makes him preen. His is the only scent that gets to be mixed with Steve’s—he’s the only one that Steve’s picked to let in like this.

                “You werewolves sure are weird, Buck.” Steve announces, tossing some of his laundry back off the bed and onto the floor, where it was when Bucky found it. He makes a noncommittal noise. “You think… You’ll stay for a while?” He asks after several minutes of silence, sitting on the edge of the bed.

                Bucky pokes his head out of the top of his blanket fortress. “Stevie, there ain’t a force in heaven or hell that could make me move from this spot anytime soon.” Steve seems unconvinced. Fishing an arm out of the blankets, Bucky yanks Steve down next to him, rolls until he snuggled right up against him, pressed as close as possible with the blankets between them, his mouth at Steve’s neck.

                “I’m staying with you,” He tells Steve’s pulse, “Just like always, punk."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed it! There's a very real possibility that this story may get re-written (and fleshed out) in the future, since this is the draft that I posted because "goddamn it if I don't post one of them, I'm never going to post any of them and never going to finish this stupid story." 
> 
> This isn't the end though! I hope you'll all look forward to more of werewolf!Bucky and his adventures, because I certainly have quite a few more of them thought up...
> 
> As always, unbeta'd! All mistakes are mine, don't hesitate to call me out if you see any. Thanks so much for reading! C:>

**Author's Note:**

> guys I rewrote this so many times that I'm just gonna post it so I can't change my mind lol. Future chapters may change POV/tenses. This is nearly 3k of me waxing poetic about how much Bucky loves the way Steve smells and making it an excuse for werewolf cuddles. Future parts of this fic will progress much in the same way. I also left it a little ambiguous as to their relationship on purpose because future chapters are gonna address it. Also just a note this is gonna be a super fluffy story, like there's gonna be some angst but this is gonna be a mainly "Bucky Barnes saves himself and still struggles a little but is mainly okay and enjoys his new life" type fic. This portion is gonna have three chapters, just to cover the main girth of the plot, and then future works will have fun scenarios, like suddenly-a-girl!Steve, and suddenly-a-twin!Bucky, and Bucky getting to know the other Avengers. Let me know how you guys like it, and if you have any suggestions for things you'd like to see! c:


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